


Making a Sale

by Nadat



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:52:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadat/pseuds/Nadat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Pepe and profit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a Sale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe/gifts).



Ankh-Morpork was changing. 

Some would say it was always changing, which meant this was no actual change. It was time to get with the times, they said, or maybe the Times, which was another thing altogether but was noted to have excellent crossword puzzles.

Nowadays people barely blinked if a dwarf walked by with flowers in their beard, or if there was delicate filigree work on their armor. It was a sign of the times. And it was, in Madame Sharn’s opinion, about time.

Of course, there still were stereotypes. There were still things that some dwarves expected to see. And they worked. She hired male-presenting dwarves to guard the shop, because that made the investors feel safer. The ones serving the cocktails? Female-presenting, because it meant people drank more and thus spent more. She believed in the future, she believed in progress, but more than that, Madame Sharn believed in profit. And profit came from catering without being insulting. 

Take Pepe, now. And a small smile came to her lips at the thought of him, meeting needs almost before she knew they had them. He was with a client. With ease he matched her excitement, hand-flap by hand-flap. He’d always known how to make things work, when to apply what force, how to adapt.

Though this next customer was going to take all of his charm, and Madame’s as well. 

Samuel Vimes, of many titles, most of which he tried not to answer to, walked into the store and frowned at the displays. 

“What would bring him here?” 

While the question was mostly rhetorical, Pepe heard it anyway as he walked back from finishing with the last client. “Maybe he heard it didn’t chafe.” This was delivered with a particularly Pepe sort of smile, one that suggested the Duke might participate in activities that could lend themselves to chafing. A lot.

“It’s probably the other.” She looked over at Pepe. Pepe looked over at the backroom. Retribushium. People wanted to know what Likely had done to make Andy fall over like that at the match. And Pepe, ever the salesman, had been more than happy to gesture excitedly and work up enthusiasm for their new product. 

It was not going to outsell micromail. Yes, it was useful, but that was the thing. It was entirely practical. People didn’t come to Shatta to buy something practical. They came to buy the Dream. They came to spend more money than they had on something flashy and shiny that above all didn’t chafe, so they could show off to their friends who would then go out and get something as equally flashy. Retribushium went underneath clothing and wasn’t going to get everyone whispering about the wearer apparently having excellent taste. 

There was a market anyway, or so it might appear. Madame watched Pepe walk up to Vimes and engage. Pepe had it down to a science. While a dwarf would walk into a shop and likely not wonder about what that other dwarf’s gender was, the humans, well. The humans focused on it, tried to read it, and wound up distracted. 

Madame Sharn walked closer, eavesdropping just a little. Distracted humans were so much easier to get money out of, and drunk ones even easier, but she knew that you didn’t try to get this one drunk. Everyone knew that. Even Pepe.

Instead, Pepe was doing what he did best - sell. Currently he was pointing out that if some of the Watch wore Retribushium, then people wouldn’t bother messing with them. No one would know who was wearing it. 

“There aren’t any prices,” Vimes muttered.

“Noticed that, did you?” Madame Sharn joined them, smiling. If you had to ask… But this was the Duke, and he had a Budget, likely, one just for the Watch.

“Why spoil an otherwise lovely time with numbers?” This was Pepe. “Besides. This way the buyers know things might be… negotiable.”

Vimes’ eyes narrowed, and Sharn knew Pepe might be on thin ice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Pepe side-stepped the charging bull that was Vimes’ suspicion. “Sponsorship.”

Both Vimes and Madame Sharn looked at Pepe as if he’d just started speaking troll. Pepe smiled at them both, and Madame’s heart resumed beating. 

“We let you have a few suits. Try them out, get their feel, for a modest fee. Since they’ll be being used and all. In the meantime, you start talking about it, how it keeps your men safer, how that one attack on two watchmen up at the Dolly Sisters didn’t go as the attackers planned because they were wearing Retribushium. Your men are better off, our profits go up. Win-win.”

And that was why Madame loved Pepe. His mind. She could see that the Duke was standing there thinking this through, and even she couldn’t find a hole in it. Certainly that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. What it did mean was that any gaps weren’t easily spotted.

Finally Vimes nodded his head. “And what’s this modest fee?” 

Pepe practically sparkled enthusiasm as he giggled, and Vimes’ brow furrowed. Good. Pepe was keeping the man from being entirely certain just yet, increasing chances of a sale.

“Let’s just go into the office to discuss that, shall we?” Pepe turned, giving Madame Sharn a wink, and led a slightly off-kilter Vimes to the back office. 

She watched the door close behind them and smiled. And there was a sale, because Pepe knew when to apply force, and when to apply flirt. Thankfully he was smart enough to know not to apply force to Vimes, too. Madame shuddered at the thought of someone trying to get that man to do something that he really did not want to do. ...She should make the acquaintance of his wife, on second thought. On third thought, she really should leave that be. Sybil wasn’t going to be in the market for micromail, likely, and with Vimes being who he was, there was no need to ingratiate herself. The sale would do its job, Retribushium would gain a reputation in the city and beyond, and then she and Pepe would do their best to not attract Vimes’ notice again.


End file.
